Rosie
by PopcornOtter
Summary: (My idea for Season 4) Rosie is a warm-hearted nurse, skilled artist and beautiful young girl who has never let being deaf affect her passion for helping people. But after the war she leaves her childhood home of Paris, for Cornwall, in hopes of finding her family. Will she be able to repair lost love, or end up just causing more pain? And has she finally found where she belongs?


At first he couldn't see anything properly. Only feel the earth quake beneath him from the explosions of artillery and hear the muffled yells of men. Then, all at once, his vision became clear. He was not still on the battlefield, as he had thought, but at some distance where he could only just make out the silhouettes of soldiers on the horizon. It was relatively dark, and where he lay on the mossy floor he was surrounded by thick-trunked trees. An unremarkable umber, all of them – except one which was a startling orange. He squinted to study it further when his observations were disrupted by a figure, slowly approaching him. It knelt by his side and began to speak in a louder whisper "Don't worry, I'm a nurse. Everything'll be alright now, I promise."

"I-I… I, er" he began to stutter helplessly.

"Dwight? Dwight?"

"Dwight, are you quite alright my love?" Dwight drew in a sharp breath as he found himself looking at his beautiful wife, Caroline. "Yes, I just, um-"

"What is it, would you like a breath of fresh air?"

"Yes, actually. A ride, perhaps…" he trailed off as he rose and wandered over to the door. Caroline rose too, but stood hesitantly with her hands at her front in a nervous lock. "Well, don't be too long. It'll be dark soon and it looks like it might very well rain."

"I will, of course, my love." And with a loving smile he left, to plunge into the bracing wind.

"I promise." Said the girl in his memory. "I promise."

 _Paris, One week ago_

The streets were filled with people, yet each seemed to be in their own world, oblivious to everyone else. One seemingly such person was a young woman, barely of age, dressed in a simple navy outfit and clutching a large brown leather bag. She gripped it tightly with both hands, as if someone might tear it away from her, and her face was plastered with a distressed and anxious look. A young clerk buying fish nearby noticed and called out in French from behind her:

"Miss, are you alright?" However, unknown to him she was deaf, and therefore did not respond, so he walked round to her front. She read the repeated question off his lips.

"Yes, thank you, but I – um. I wonder if you might know were St Agnes' hospital is, for everything has changed so much since I was last here."

"Of course Miss," he replied. "But I must warn you, 'twas raided by soldiers over a month ago." At this her eyes widened, but she followed him without a word.

When they arrived at St Agnes' she couldn't help but gasp in shock. The entire building was completely empty and in a terrible state of disrepair, as if the soldiers had torn it apart from the inside. "Why would they do this?" she pleaded in a despairing whisper, barely fighting back the tears in her eyes.

"'Tis said they were looking for criminals. Enemies of the Republic. They forced everyone out, and closed the entire hospital."

Shaking like a leaf, the girl pushed against the door with her hand. It swung wide open, and without so much as a look behind her at the clerk, she slipped inside.

He followed her through winding corridors, past uncountable deserted wards, until they finally reached a lonely room on the West side of the building. Inside it was a small space, cramped by the stacks of papers lining the walls. She stood, eerily still. Worriedly hesitant, like a child about to do something forbidden. But then her instincts got the better of her and she flew to a specific pile of parchment. Within moments, she held what she had been looking for in her trembling hands.

If this was goodbye, then she had to know. Her whole life had been waiting, for this moment.

"Please," she pivoted daintily to face the clerk. "Would you read this for me?"

Through his bewilderment, he nodded, and took the decayed paper in his rough fingers.

"A sickly child was handed to us today. A baby girl - named 'Rosie'. It is thought she may be deaf, for she does not respond to any amount of noise. However, the man who brought her would reveal little about her origin. All he said, was that she was born unto a wealthy family in Cornwall, but some illness she had had killed her mother. The master of the house was concerned for the health of the rest of the family, especially the child's brother, and so sent her here. Understanding then, that the sickness is contagious we put her in an isolated ward, under close observations."

Rosie stared, almost blankly, at the clerk.

"What does it mean?" he asked.

"It means," she said. "That I must go to a place called Cornwall."

 _Cornwall, Present day_

It was dark outside, the night being in full swing. But Ross Poldark lay wide awake, staring up hopelessly at the ceiling. Thoughts circled his mind, as loud as babbling crowd, never leaving him alone to sleep. With a slightly despairing sigh he turned to his right, where Demelza was fast asleep. Curled up small like a cat, she reminded him of a Demelza he knew not so long ago. An innocent young girl who was fully devoted to him. So much had changed since then, partly his doing, partly helpless circumstance. And now that loyalty he had always taken for granted, seemed to be breaking, and with it his heart, shattering into a thousand pieces.

Leaning over her now, he gently brushed aside a lock of ginger curls, and pressed his lips to the warm skin of her forward. As he did he closed his eyes, wishing he could keep hold of her and never let go. Then it was as if his mind left his body, and he no longer had to dictate his movements as he rose from the bed, put on his coat and boots, and left the house entirely.

Unphased by the darkness of the moonless night, his legs led him to the cliff above Nampara Cove. As black as the sky above it, the sea lay before him a motionless oasis of secrets. The tiny waves lapping against the rocks whispered incomprehensible prophecies while the tame wind whistled through his dark hair.

Amongst all the mystery he noticed the dimmest of lights on the horizon. A ship – moving away from the coast. He had to squint to see it.

However, his night-time antics were short lived. Sprinkles of rain began to fall from the bleakness above, and then the spitting turned to pouring, and he was forced to retreat.

The moderate rain had turned to a powerful storm by the time Rosie reached the edge of a forest. As she stopped to catch her breath, she had to cling onto a nearby tree just to save herself from being blown away. Thunder growled like a ferocious lion and all around her was the hammering downpour of rain. To try to see in all the precipitation and the dark of the night she was forced to crane her neck towards the horizon. But just as she pulled herself away a sudden rush of wind thrust against her, and her head was smacked against the hard wood.

She felt the impact, but didn't register the pain. She was already out cold.

Dwight wrestled through the violent wind and rain as he rode, raced through endless fields. He felt as if he were really battling two storms: one with the elements in the open air, and another with the immense feelings buried deep down in his heart. The guilt, the anguish, the pain… It got to the point where it was just too much, he practically fell off his horse and dropped to the ground. Tears spilled from his eyes as he raised his head to the heavens. He screamed from the pain that was eating him up, counting on the roars of thunder to mask his cries. Then, he heard someone else's howl, like an echo of his. With a slight hesitancy, he scrambled to his feet, and ambled blindly towards where the wail had come from. The darkness of the night enveloped him, but a found determination drove him on.

It was only by chance that he found Rosie, lying lifeless on the earth. He practically tripped over the young girl, before dropping to his knees beside her. As always, the surgeon instinct inside him kicked in, and he reached for her limp wrist to check she had a pulse. It was when he looked at her face that he hit him.

In a moment of stunned silence he found himself staring blankly at the same girl he had months ago, on a blood-drenched battlefield. The mysterious nurse who had found him, like a lost child, and in treating his gunshot wound and returning him to his group had undoubtedly saved his life. Intuitively, he reached out to feel her wet face – as if to insure she was real - and at his touch she woke. "Can you stand up?" he inquired in a voice too soft for the clamour surrounding them. In response, she nodded – slowly, _painfully_.

Gently he helped her up, but Rosie had to clutch tightly to his stable frame to stay upright. With a new found strength and gritted determination he lifted her onto his horse, but sat behind her to ensure she did not simply slip off. Luckily they were not far from Killewaren, but nevertheless by the time they reached the dimly lit mansion the girl had collapsed helplessly onto his shoulder.

As a sleepy servant came to take his steed, Dwight carried Rosie carefully in his arms to one of the luxurious unoccupied bedrooms. Delicately, he lay her dainty, almost fragile body on the bed. When he turned around he found Caroline, heaving a sigh of relief, and softly embraced her. The messy state of her husband puzzled Caroline, and even more so the dishevelled girl on the bed. After taking Caroline's hand in his he did his best to explain, but felt he failed to satisfy her bewilderment. Even so, he finally looked her sincerely in the eye and said: "Go to bed, my love. I must tend to her head wound." Caroline opened her mouth as if to speak, but quickly withdrew any intended comment. She was going to leave, when Dwight caught her by the hand, and pulled her back towards him. He kissed her sweetly, and as he did any ghastly emotions melted away, and his heart leapt with all encompassing love.

Rosie's dark eyelashes fluttered daintily open, like a butterfly's wings, and she blinked rapidly in the light of a breaking dawn. Dwight stared back at her, his blue eyes as deep as the ocean. "Hello." His voice was low, yet soft and gentle. She opened her mouth to speak, but her throat was dry. Dwight held up a mug of water to her lips and she drank a little, gratefully.

"I remember," she whispered, finally.

"You saved my life." Dwight said, sincerely.

"And now, I do believe you have saved mine." The memory was hazy, but the pain in her head was definite. Dwight smiled a little at her.

"The wound in your head is severe, but it will heal." She had to nod slowly, because each movement summoned a fresh wave of pain.

"My name is Dwight Enys."

"Rosie – just Rosie." Dwight took a moment to take all of her in. She was exceptionally beautiful, there was no doubt of that. With fair skin, and dark hair that fell in ripples – like a waterfall – down the sides of her face. Every feature of her face was carved into the perfect shape, and her lips were naturally reddened. And her eyes, a striking turquoise, seemed to stare all the way through into his soul.

It was a while before either of them spoke. However, Dr Enys' curiosity got the better of him and he inquired about where she was from. "Your accent is like nothing I've ever heard before." He had remarked. "I've lived in France all my life, but I was born in England, here in Cornwall I think. I'm here in hopes of finding my family. Though, perhaps my accent is simply because I am deaf." She read the surprise, and slight confusion in Dwight's expression, but didn't know what else to say.

"When did you loose your hearing?" he asked. "Shortly after I was born I believe. Some contagious illness?...It left me deaf and with unordinary scars on my back."


End file.
